


Blasphemous

by MrsMars



Series: Drabble Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 20:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMars/pseuds/MrsMars
Summary: Battle of Hogwarts drabble inspired by a line from the song Blasphemous Rumors by Depeche Mode.





	Blasphemous

“I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumors, but I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor,” she paused to sigh, “and when I die, I expect to find him laughing.”

Susan motioned to the grounds around them. The screams from the battlefield came in waves, as if the wind were taking the voices from the lips of the wounded right to her very ears. Were they the screams of the enemy, too wounded to run but not yet on the steps of hell? Or was it the screams of her classmates, trapped or mangled by spells, unable to help themselves? She tried to swallow her fear before it took over. She was almost successful. 

Another girl touched her arm, gently as if to not break her. “Come on now, lets see if we can bring anyone back with us. I see a few Gryffindors limping over there, lets give them a shoulder. Susan?” 

Susan tried to focus, tried to turn in the direction she was being led, but her legs would not listen. She fell to her knees. Her forehead touched the ground as the bile threatened to choke her. Her breath came in gasps as she fought not to fall apart, not to break into a million pieces. She deserved the right to, but she couldn’t let herself. Not here, not now.

A gust of wind brought another chorus of moans and cries to her ears. Gripping her wand, she pushed herself up high enough so that she would not choke when her stomach gave up all of the nothing she had had to eat that day. Again, she heaved. She wanted to be rid of everything, but nothing came. You can’t puke up memories and leave them in the grass. 

This whole day was just a bad apple, a poisoned meal that she would never recover from. A never-ending case of sickness that would follow her to her deathbed. However near or far that might be.


End file.
